Smile
by Ben is Glory
Summary: She rarely smiles anymore. Companion piece to Sonata In Red. BS. Complete.


TITLE: Smile  
AUTHOR: Ben is Glory  
RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: B/S

SETTING: Early season six.  
DISCLAIMER: Oh my Joss! Heh. And the italicized part is from ASH's song "Babies (The In Between)". Go worship Anthony Stewart Head because he is sexy and stuff.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally here is the companion piece to Sonata In Red. Keep in mind, you don't have to have read Sonata to understand this fic; it's pretty independent. Thank you SO much to the best betas in the world, Lauren (Running Up Fawn) and Alexa. You guys are awesome, and I love you both very much.  
FEEDBACK: I must have it. Seriously. Or I'll die, lol.

***

__

Looking at photographs

Watching you grow before my eyes

Remembering the moments the instant

Before the camera saw them

And as I smile at all the times we shared,

I'm reminded of the in between

***

She rarely smiles anymore.

This broken girl stands in front of the mirror every morning just looking at herself. At what she's become. At what she's lost. Her friends don't know. They can never know. She's sure they wouldn't understand. But he knows.

For whatever reason, she told him. Thought maybe she could trust him. Maybe he would know how she feels. Maybe he could comfort her. Maybe not. Nevertheless, at the start of each day she finds herself in the same place.

Sunlight pours into her small bedroom, though compared to her coffin, it seems overwhelmingly spacious. Her eyes flitter open, taking in the scene. She's still here, and she's still breathing, and she's still dying inside. She pushes the covers back and almost winces in pain; she's not used to frailty.

Carefully, she sits up and gently swings her legs over the side of the bed. Firmly planting both feet on the floor, she moves to stand. Her legs are shaky at first, and she clutches her bedside table for support. It only takes a second before she gains her balance and takes her place by the mirror.

Pictures frame the fragile piece of glass. Pictures of herself, her friends, her family. She notices how there are never any pictures of him, and thinks maybe it's better that way. Maybe not.

She holds out her hand and traces one finger down the edge, coming in contact with every single print. Memories come flooding back to her, and she starts to feel dizzy. She has to close her eyes, but soon the feeling passes, and they're open again.

Her attention turns to a particular strip of snapshots. Two young girls, one blonde and one brunette, in a photo booth playing around and laughing. She barely recognizes that it's herself and Dawn. After a few seconds have passed, she remembers that day as if it were yesterday. She can almost taste the sea salt on her tongue.

The family had taken a trip down to the boardwalk by the beach one Sunday afternoon. Dawn must have been only eight years old, making Buffy fourteen. She remembers fourteen; that was before all the trouble started, when she was still an innocent. The two ran down the street holding hands, their parents calling after them to be careful and something about a meeting place. Dawn was the first to spot it, and she dragged her inside the tiny booth. The girls made funny faces and cracked each other up while the camera captured every moment. _Only none of it was real_, she thinks. Maybe it was. Maybe not.

She shakes her head, falling out of the trance as she turns to look at another image. It is the Scooby Gang: her, Willow, and Xander. All three were grinning stupidly as the candid photo was taken. It was shot just outside in her own backyard. After school one day the friends came over to hang out. Xander had made some crack about Giles, and the two girls kept teasing him. Her mom had come outside with a camera while they were jumping on Xander, stealing the event. Looking at that picture makes her heart ache, knowing that the present is nothing like the past. The future can't be the same either. Not with how she feels or what she's lost. Maybe it could. Maybe not.

Now she's looking at the portrait that always causes the most pain. What appears to be a normal, happy family stares back at her smiling, but all of their looks are hollow. She doesn't know why she even keeps the photograph around. Every time she sees it she wants to scream and cry and throw things. The family they were then was completely broken to begin with. She can't say anything different about the family they are now-- completely makeshift and bare. She wonders if they were really ever happy. Maybe they were. Maybe not.

This shattered girl observes one clear thing in all of these pictures: she is smiling. She rarely smiles anymore.

Her attention turns to study her mirror image. A bone poking out here, a scar there. Tiny wrinkles around her mouth. She just looks so drained. One year ago she was vibrant and full of life. Today she clings on to her memories of death, and whatever it is that keeps her going seems to fall away. Maybe she can be that girl she was again. Maybe not.

A gentle knock at the door breaks the silence, and she is startled a bit. The doorknob twists slowly, and he enters.

"Morning, love." He doesn't look at her, and she doesn't answer him. "I came to see you. What are you doing?" His voice is soft and low, and he is overwhelmed with concern.

She ignores the question and continues to stare at herself. She refuses to think of anything and everything and anyone that might still care about her. It just hurts too much to think.

"You look so tired," he tells her. Moves over by her carefully as to not scare her away. Nowadays she's like a fragile china doll, and he's afraid she'll fall to pieces at any moment. Maybe she will. Maybe not.

Her senses kick in, and she feels his hand resting gently on her back. Gaze never breaking, she can't see him in the mirror. Her mind wanders as she imagines being able to see their reflection together one day. _Not that it's possible, _she thinks. _But it would be nice._ Maybe it would. Maybe not.

"Please get back into bed, pet." She turns her head away from him, afraid that just one glance will be too much, and she will die. Tenderly grasping her hand, he pulls her cautiously to the bed. Reluctantly, she obeys, chalking everything up to the fact that she is so exhausted and so sad that it is everything she can do to keep from losing herself in him.

Soon, the covers are pulled back, and this damaged girl climbs into bed. And he's tucking her in now. For the first time since she's been back, she feels warm, comforted, loved. It's wonderful and beautiful, and it burns all at the same time. She wonders if it can ever be like this again. Maybe, hopefully it will be. But, then again, maybe not. Maybe all that was lost long ago.

"Sleep well," he whispers as he brushes a delicate kiss to her forehead. Moves to leave, taking one last look back at her as the door shuts behind him. He could swear he saw her smiling back at him.

She rarely smiles anymore.

***

A/n: I hope you enjoyed this! Review pretty please, 'cause it makes me smile :) Wow… I promise, that wasn't supposed to be cheesy, hee.


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